Fire and Ice
by Flamewind
Summary: /Silver&Crystal/ He was fire, she was ice. No matter what he said to her, she always bounced back with a smile on her face. /Oneshot/


Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.

A/N: This one-shot—romance drabble, I should say—is something that I've been thinking about for a while now. (My friend has started a Johto-based fanfiction. I think that's what really got me to write this.) Though I do very little normally with the original Pokemon characters, this is an exception. I may write more with Silver-Crystal(SilverCrystallineShipping), depending on how well this turns out… All the events mentioned come from the GBA game Pokemon Crystal.

**Fire and Ice**

The red-haired youth sat away from the crowd of trainers, choosing to look out the rain-blurred window instead of joining their conversation. Nothing interesting happened in a Pokemon Center while his pokemon were being healed. His thoughts were prone to wander into areas he'd rather not relive while he was waiting in silence. This time was no exception.

One thing about these reveries, though, was that they unerringly included Kris. Kris was his rival, the girl that ignited his hatred every time he saw her. Her tinkering laugh was the most annoying thing he'd ever heard. But there was this part of him—he was unsure of how big a part—that wanted her to laugh again. He also wanted to stop running into her at odd times, when there was no one else around. Being alone with her was so unnerving… the only way to solve the awkwardness was to battle her.

From the beginning, she had this ability to defeat him. Every battle. Every time. The first battle there was no excuse—Kris had Elm's chikorita, but he had cyndaquil, yet he had still lost. It was, of course, cyndaquil's fault. In Azalea Town, his pokemon were still weak from defeating Bugsy. That's why they lost. At the Burned Tower, his new magnemite had a freak accident. Never once along the way did he stop and look back at his training methods until that man with the dragonite flattened his team. What he originally thought was scorn from a bleeding heart of a trainer haunted him later at night. Would his Pokemon really perform better in battle if he was _nicer_ to them?

Several months later, he understood. Understood what Lance meant with his words on kindness and compassion. But the lesson was a late one. His rival, that annoying blue-haired girl, had gained an irreversible advantage over him.

Kris was short for Crystal—he attempted to call her the latter often, for he just couldn't imagine her going by a male-sounding name. She was so nice it ground on his nerves, because no matter how nasty he was to her, she would respond pleasantly. It was like nothing could phase her. Her hair color suited her personality, as his was perfect for his. He was fire, she was ice. She was the one person he had met that never melted to his flames.

The glass doors to the Pokemon Center opened, and a girl twirling an umbrella entered. For just that split second as he looked up, a glistening rainbow of water droplets surrounded her as she snapped her umbrella closed. He was stunned to see Kris. She didn't notice him as she sauntered over to the front desk and handed over her Pokeballs. She only noticed him when she turned around to look for a place to sit. He was surprised to find her standing over him the next moment. "Can I sit with you, Silver?" She asked. Her voice was like her laugh: irritatingly cheerful, high and sweet like candy. Kris didn't seem at all awkward as she swept onto the couch next to him, still smiling.

"You know Silver," she said after a long pause. He glanced at her. "You'd look a lot better if you kept your hair away from your eyes."

Her little hand was reaching toward his face, toward the offending lock that covered his right eye. He saw her intention and caught her by the hand, but not before flicking his head so his eyes were visible. Kris was blushing when he stated, "Your hand is cold."

"Yours is warm," she countered.

A frown creased his pale face. "What would you do if I cut my hair?"

The question was so abrupt, it caught her off guard. But only for a moment. "I'd be happy."

"Really," it wasn't a question. He stared intently at her face. He still hadn't released her hand as he pulled his backpack up next to him and fished an object out. When he showed her the scissors, he let go of her hand, though it seemed to be reluctant.

"You wouldn't," she looked a little concerned as a lock of hair was captured between the scissor blades loosely.

Silver smiled, but only slightly, "But won't it make you happy?" A good half of the lock fell to the floor. His new haircut was rough, but she claimed it looked much better.

Later that night, Silver was alone in a small room the Center offered. He inhaled sharply at face that greeted him in the mirror. Why had he cut his signature red mane like that? There was only one right answer: it was his attempt to melt her, to get that glimpse of concern that passed across her face. He wanted—needed—to know that Kris would react like she did.

Silver still thought she was annoying. She'd gotten him to cut his hair. But there was more, there was always something more, beyond his frustration with her. What was it? Love?

…Definitely not.


End file.
